With a touch of impatience, Samuval darted forward and pricked the brute in his bulging gut. He needed an active, engaged opponent to make this duel the memorable contest he could tout. His goad served its purpose, and again Rust-Knock charged, flailing wildly, slamming the cudgel to the ground as the man darted right and left, evading each potentially deadly attack.

The bandit lord inched closer to his foe. Again that massive club came down, and this time Samuval crouched low as he dodged, looking up at the sweaty, bulging chest. The giant's vest was open, held only by a crisscross of leather strands, almost as if it marked the creature's heart for Samuval's next blow.

But that was too easy, and too quick; so instead of a killing thrust, the bandit lord contented himself with a slashing lunge, a painful gash that curved like a bloody, leering grin across the giant's huge belly.

Spinning on one heel, Samuval sprinted away, hearing his monstrous foe-now nearly sobbing grotesquely in frustrated rage-race predictably behind. Once again the crowd of ruffians scattered, making way for the combatants. Abruptly the man skidded to a stop and spun about, balancing himself carefully. Crouching, he raised his gleaming silver longsword.

Behind him men scattered, abandoning the plank stretched across two barrels, the resting place for numerous empty mugs and puddles of sticky beer. There stood Fat Wally, the keg-man with mouth agape, who nervously stood his ground before his still-loaded cart, a heavy pewter mug in each hand.

The half-giant had no eyes for the crowd, for the bar, for anything except the infuriating human. He roared in triumph at Samuval, seemingly cornered, and bore down on his puny opponent. The half-giant's club started its downward sweep, a blow that would have cracked the flagstones on a granite floor, as Rust-Knock's howling became tinged with mad glee. Both biceps bulging, he brought the huge timber through a tremendous swipe.

At the last instant, Samuval ducked away, rolling to the side and bouncing to his feet in time to see the club hit the ground and bounce upward from the force of the blow. The half-giant's charge carried him inexorably forward, through the plank bar and into the keg-laden wagon beyond. Rust-Knock lost his balance as he tried to swing himself around. The cudgel bounced into a keg, shattering the plank sides and releasing a foaming cascade-and a howl of indignation from Fat Wally.

The rest of the men, draconians, and half-breeds, pressed in now, sensing that the fight was coming to a end-and feeling protective of the remaining kegs. Having made his point, Samuval was content to accept the accolades of his band, waving cheerfully as the half-giant was assisted out of the wreckage of the cart. Soaked by blood and beer, he hobbled away, too humiliated and defeated even to glare at the victor.

"Who's going to pay for this?" squeaked Fat Wally, pushing through the crowd toward Samuval. "These are costly damages!"

"Put it down to the cost of doing business-or your business here is over," said the leader of the bandits breezily.

"Don't tempt me!" snapped Wally. "I have a good mind to do just that, to pack up the rest of my barrels and leave!"

Samuval blinked in surprise. "My dear beerman, you misunderstand me. Your business here might come to an end, but that doesn't mean there's any chance you'll leave here with the rest of these kegs." His tone was genial, but he wiped his bloody blade on a flap of the merchant's vest as he spoke.

"I-I guess I will make do with the losses," Fat Wally stammered, his face pale. "I still have two more, ready to be tapped."

"Well, what are you standing here for, then?" demanded Sam. "Tap one of them! And you men, put another plank across those barrels. The bar is open again!"

Even before the bandits could gather around the watering hole, there was a shout from the edge of the camp.

"One-Eye returns!" called a sentry. "And he has a prisoner!"

Coryn was starting to wonder if it had really been that smart to let herself get captured. Not that she was worried for her life, not much, anyway, but she had to acknowledge that things weren't turning out exactly as she had planned.

What had she been thinking? Well, she had been irritated with Jenna, angry that the Red Robe was being so secretive about their purposes. And then Dalamar had appeared-he was, quite simply, the most intriguing and handsome person she had ever encountered. Yet Jenna seemed determined to keep her in the dark, right down to that ridiculous cone of silence!

When the bandits had attacked, Jenna and Dalamar had plunged into the woods after the wayward mule, Coryn had first considered simply running away. That had been a short-lived impulse: She was pragmatic enough to realize that she had no real place to go. And besides, Umma had sent her to Jenna and directed her to follow the older woman's orders.

Then had come a rustling in the bushes on the opposite side of the camp, away from the direction from which the bandits had attacked. Crouching behind Dolly the mule, Cory had seen four shadowy figures skulk through the darkness while their compatriots and the two wizards were blundering around in the dark forest. She could have sneaked away or even sprinted into the woods and counted on good luck to catch up to Dalamar and Jenna before the bandits caught up with her, if they even pursued at all.

But she had discarded that idea, and instead ventured boldly into the light of the fire, ordering the four bandits to leave before she turned them into knobby toads. They had merely laughed and one of them, his face grotesque behind a crusty, ragged eye patch, had grabbed her by the arms so roughly that he had left them bruised. She had been tempted right then to use one of the spells she had seen Jenna employ with such dramatic effects, but the bandits had immediately bound her wrists behind her, cruel lashes cutting into her skin. A filthy gag, tightly wrapped around Cory's head, had quashed any possibilities of magic words, and even prevented her from yelling for help. Apparently satisfied with their prize, the quartet of men had slipped into the woods, taking care to head directly away from Dalamar and Jenna.

Then they had made her walk for a very long time, and now they were approaching this well-lit, crowded compound in the middle of the nearly trackless woods. Already her little hand had attracted the attention of the outer pickets, and soon her captors had prodded her into the reflected glow of a huge bonfire. The girl was footsore, staggering with weariness, and increasingly frightened as her one-eyed captor roughly shoved her toward the center of the circle of men who were gathered around the fire.

But these were not just men, she saw with a numbing chill. Several scaly creatures, reptilian snouts extended, snorted and snuffled as they beheld her. These were draconians, she guessed-but much larger and uglier and, well, fiercer-looking than she had expected. Others among the band had expressions so bestial and snarling she guessed they must be ogres.

Thus it was almost a relief when a man stepped forward to look down, with undisguised amusement, into her upturned face. He pulled her gag away and Cory drew a grateful breath. But the idea of a little crackling magic missile spell suddenly seemed inadequate for this unruly gang.

"What have you found for us, One-Eye?" asked the man.

" 'Ere's a little lady, maid-serve to the lady traveler, we thought ye might enjoy, Cap'n Samuval," offered the bandit cheerfully.

"Why, thank you!" said Samuval, waving expansively. "You are most correct." Effortlessly he spun Cory around. She struggled, and his grip only tightened. "Don't make me cut you, lass-hold still."

Her heart pounded as she felt the side of a cold blade against her wrist. The bandit captain thrust and twisted and the throng of ruffians laughed as Coryn flinched. Only then did she realize that he had cut away the bonds holding her wrists together. With relief, she brought her hands before her and started rubbing her chafed skin.